The howls of the two brindle twins were no longer distant. They were synchronized—a haunting, double-toned baying that told me they had found the broken bodies of their pack-mates. The grief in their voices lasted only a second before it turned into a cold, murderous resolve. They weren’t just hunting for Caleb anymore; they were hunting for blood.
I was deep in the “Hollow,” a part of the trap line where the trees were so thick their branches interlaced like skeletal fingers. The ground here was a treacherous carpet of black mud and slick roots. I was exhausted, my muscles trembling so violently I could barely keep my feet, but the “static” in my head was a screaming siren.
They were here.
The two brindles emerged from the mist simultaneously, flanking me. They were massive, their coat
